Stamina
by bloodandaltars
Summary: Hurley's running through the jungle and maybe going nuts. Post S2 finale, oneshot.


It's like a really bad dream. Hurley knows plenty about nightmares, and one thing that's always true in his is that you can never run when you have to. As soon as the guy with the chainsaw shows up or shit starts exploding or whatever, you start feeling like gravity's tripling and your limbs are struggling through water. That's when they get you.

Hurley's pretty sure that this isn't a dream, though. Not totally sure, but if he's asleep then this is the mother of all nightmares and he guesses maybe he should give Dr. Brooks a call if he wakes up, because this is pretty messed, man.

No, he's pretty sure he's awake and he's pretty sure he's about two seconds away from having a panic attack, because he can't breathe at all and he's moving in slow motion, and thank you very much but he's not _that_ bad at running. Maybe he's slower than most people and not so great with the stamina thing, but he can usually keep up a decent jog for a couple minutes.

_More, probably, since Libby..._

Okay, so that's the kind of thing he's gotta stop thinking about, because now he's full-out gasping and rooted to the spot. His heartbeat pounds through his head as he cups his hands over his nose and mouth, a practiced motion. His lungs contract to pull in sharp bursts of air through his fingers. _Breathe breathe breathe._

He doesn't know he's crying until he feels the tears trickling over the backs of his hands. He's crying and that's just great, because he doesn't really know where he is or what to do and now he has to sit down because he's starting to see purple spots when he blinks.

He really hopes that Jack has some sort of genius plan, or Sayid has telepathy or something, because otherwise everyone's probably screwed. Like, definitely, because that means they're relying on the useless fat guy with bad luck and no sense of direction, the guy who apparently missed out when everyone else on this stupid island got superhero genes, and he's probably not going to make it.

_Okay, don't think about that either. Also don't think about bears or monsters or horrible traps that no one's around to warn you about..._ And he's off again with the gasping and panicking thing. So it would probably also be good to stop thinking about the list of things he's not supposed to think about, because this really isn't helpful. It's like that thing about that rock that's supposed to turn into gold if you hold it in your hand and don't think of zebras or chocolate or whatever, and it's basically impossible because you can't get the image of, like, a chocolate-covered zebra out of your head.

_That's good, think about stupid crap. Get up and keep going._

He misses Dave, briefly. It sometimes happens when things are really fucked up. Dave was a good distraction, and it sometimes takes a lot of effort for Hurley to remember why it's a bad idea to miss him. Sometimes he just wants to talk to him, because he remembers being really sad after the accident and not thinking straight, and how great it was when Dave started showing up every so often to keep him company.

_Yeah, and to convince you he'd split a large pizza with you if you called the delivery place. Or that you should jump off a cliff because this isn't real._

Don't think about that.

You have to. What, you want to be shoving food in your mouth and mumbling to yourself all the time again?

Stop talking to yourself.

He realizes that he's said the last part out loud, which is kind of funny except not. But it's okay, because everybody says stuff out loud when they're stressed, and maybe he hasn't lost much weight but it's not like he's back to having conversations about hamburgers with thin air.

He's okay, really, and he's going to stand up and start moving again. Maybe try again to figure out which way the sun was pointing on the beach and what that means, but he's never been good at that kind of thing.

_Never been very good at anything, really, except getting people cursed._

Shut up. Anyway, Libby said...

He chokes off the thought before it can fully form, blinking away both the tears and the image of her face in his mind. He gets up, trying to ignore the lightheadedness.

_She'd say you can do this._

He bites his lip, hard. This thought slipped through and is now sitting in a hard lump between his throat and his belly, but he realizes it's true. Swallowing, he takes some steps and settles into the ungraceful rhythm of a slow, lumbering jog. Within a couple of minutes he's out of breath again and his heart's hammering loudly enough to scare birds away, but he keeps going.


End file.
